I'm pretty sure I'm asleep and having the best dream of my life. Well, okay, it may not be
the best dream I've ever had, but it's pretty damn sweet. In this dream I'm a pro cyclist at training camp in Mallorca. I don't believe it either.
We busted a 7am flight out of Liverpool on Monday, which meant a little hotel stay Sunday night, which in turn meant fire dancers out front of the Crowne Plaza Hotel.
A 7am flight meant a 3:45am wakeup call. Here are the lads at the airport, and they're about as stoked as they look. Trust me, guys, just hang in there and it'll be well worth it.
The flight to Mallorca was shorter than the drive I have to do in Idaho if I want to buy new pants. Sweet. Customs were a breeze and we walked out onto Palm Drive, which got me all nostalgic and whatnot thinking about the beginings of my cycling life. But that's another story. (Flying Dutchman earning his name in the foreground.)
The hotel we're staying at is pretty primo. We've been tearing through a surprisingly nice all you can eat buffet, and I've made it a point to hit double dessert every night. Eat big to win big. The hotel also has a sweet antique TV that seems to magically pick up shows from the past. My roomie
Matt Cronshaw was amazed, and we even had some WWF going on the other day.
Here's a snap from above the hotel on my first short, spin-out-my-legs-because-I've-been-traveling-since-3:45am ride.
Mallorca is amazing. People drive on the proper side of the road, and it seems they've passed a law that all roads must be scenic and awesome. The views are spectacular, the weather has been spot on and the quality of the roads rivals anything I've ever ridden. It reminds me a lot of California, with small roads twisting up long climbs as well as big open stretches where the wind is king. It's nice to watch the little jockey sized climbers who've been ripping your legs off on every incline for the last 3 hours fight a strong headwind.
We finally got in our first long team ride today and we snaked through hills, across rolling countryside and then came back along the beach.
I don't want to rub it in, but it turned into one hell of a February day and we snapped a few more pics from the hotel veranda post-ride.
All that talk of verandas reminds me of the "Three Amigos," and a quote therefrom.
Rosita: I was thinking later, you could kiss me on the veranda.
Dusty Bottoms: Lips would be fine.
God, I love that movie.
My resident Gretzky-loving DJ, and housemate Jamie has some more killer photos from today, and a
generally hilarious blog. He updates it regularly and, not to tell you how to run your life, but it's worth a few minutes of your time.
I'm gonna jet, but let me leave you with a few highlights:
-Finishing my ride and leaving the bike with our mechanic Pete, knowing it will be tuned and shining before the ride tomorrow.
-Being handed a mussette bag full of delicious recovery grub immediately after handing off my bike.
-Massage from Helen, our soigneur. Supreme-o.
-Did I mention the all you can eat buffet of deliciousness.
Old jaded pros may be scoffing as I write that stuff, but I'm not used to being pampered like that and having those few things taken care of makes my life soooooo much better. Stoked. So, so stoked. I'm loving this dream and I don't want to wake up.
